


roses are blue

by 100hearteyes



Series: closest thing to crazy [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Clexa Week 2019, Day 5, Day 7, F/F, Free day, No one dies though, The Play, Tinder AU & Nerd/Popular Trope, VERY veeerryyyy loosely based on Cyrano de Bergerac, and the only person with a big nose here is me, but it was meant for, crazy i know, lexa bellamy and finn are bff's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 02:58:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17993561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/pseuds/100hearteyes
Summary: When Finn matches with Clarke on Tinder and finds out that she likes poetry, he asks Lexa to write love poems on his behalf. Little does he know that Lexa has been harboring her own secret crush on the new girl in school.





	roses are blue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my contribution for Clexa Week, because I just couldn't not. Please excuse any mistakes, it's past 4 am where I live and I'm at a stage of sleepiness where my vision is half normal, half black.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this. It kinda got away from me, both length- and story-wise, as usual. Happy reading!

Lexa sits cross-legged on the couch, half watching the movie playing on the TV and half paying attention to her phone. She hasn't swiped right even once; a consequence of the high standards her sister, Anya, constantly blames for her lack of a romantic life.

But those, she knows, are qualms for another day. Right now, she's swiping left and left, indifferent in one way or another to all the women she comes across. It's not based on looks alone — some she wants to swipe right for, but then reads their descriptions and changes her mind.

That is, until she comes across Clarke Griffin.

Her age, blonde hair and striking blue eyes, with a beauty mark above her upper lip. An impish smile and a beautiful, curvaceous figure. Then she reads the profile and she's halfway in love with the girl. Just before her thumb can make contact with the screen to swipe right, however, her friend's voice stops her.

"Hey, Lex?"

Her thumb hovers over the screen. All it takes is a swipe of her finger, but she hesitates for some reason. "Yes, Finn?"

"What's the new girl's name again? The nerdy one?"

"Claire," Bellamy answers in her stead, and from the corner of her eye she can see Finn frown.

"Isn't it Clarke?"

"Nope. Pretty sure it's Claire."

"It is Clarke," Lexa corrects firmly, with the certainty of someone whose phone is shining with her crush's name and picture at this very moment. Still her thumb hovers. "Why do you ask?"

"We just matched on Tinder."

Lexa swipes left and closes the app.

 

//

 

Clarke has attended Polis High for three months, three weeks, and three days. Lexa knows this because she's counting. She has been from the moment Clarke introduced herself to the class on the very first class of her very first day — and Lexa has been crushing on her ever since.

She knows Clarke was quick to become president of the chess club and make friends with the likes of Wells Jaha, Raven Reyes, and Octavia Blake — Bellamy’s sister. Clarke is a straight-A student and captain of the Mathletics team. All things Lexa admires, although some would prefer to shrug it off and label Clarke as a ‘nerd’.

They have talked briefly; a shy smile here and there, a word hello or goodbye. The longest interaction was when Clarke dropped her apple in the canteen and Lexa picked it up for her and said, "You dropped your apple."

Four whole words that drew a timid smile from pink lips. Then Clarke tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and replied, "Thanks, Lexa."

Lexa smiled for the rest of the day.

As it turns out, though, picking up your crush's apple in real life does not have the same effect as in Twilight. Neither did Lexa’s skin turn sparkly all of a sudden.

It is with that thought that she shuts the door of her locker on Monday morning, only to find Finn's puppy dog eyes behind it.

"What?"

He follows her down the hall like he can barely contain his great, new idea. Lexa can barely wait to shut it down.

"I need you to do me a favor." She stops, looks him down with a raised eyebrow. Finn does not usually ask for favors, much less this tentatively. His hopeful grimace is further clue that she is not going to like it. "It's a huge one."

"Why me?"

Lexa resumes her trek down the hall, with Finn on her tail. "Because! You're like-- the best writer ever. Nobel prize level, Lex. Seriously. And I kinda need to impress Clarke."

She stops in her tracks and sends him her firmest glare. "No."

Finn pouts, undeterred by her refusal to help him. "Please, Lex. I really like this girl. And she really likes poetry, according to her description."

Lexa already knows this, because she has noticed how participative Clarke is in English Lit when the topic is poetry. Finn’s eyes shine with a plea and damn it, her really looks like a puppy — and Lexa is weak for the people she cares about.

"Fine," she huffs at last, to his utter delight. "What do you need?"

Finn yells 'yes!' and pumps his fist in the air, then against hers. "Poems. I need you to write love poems so I can send them to her."

Lexa is sure her confusion is written in clear strokes on her face. "Why would you send her poems written by me?"

"Because I can't write for shit. You know that, Lexa. And I know you’re always writing poems in History class instead of taking proper notes."

Rather than refute an embarrassing truth, Lexa focuses on what is important. "So you would lie to her?"

She turns her back to him and continues her walk towards her classroom. Alas, it is quite a way’s away, so it is impossible for her to escape under the guise of heading to her seat. She should just turn around and take the bull by the horns, as they say, but Finn is one of her best and oldest friends and she always finds herself at a crossroads when having to choose between a loved one and herself; her choice is often the former.

Lexa is stuck between a rock and a hard place; torn between her loyalty to her friend and the twisting feeling in her stomach that deepens every time she imagines Clarke and Finn together.

She is pulled back to the moment as Finn splutters, trying to find a way around the corner he has gotten himself into. "I wouldn't exactly call it lying... You'd just be embellishing my writing skills, y'know? Pretend you're me, but better. You don't even have to make it fancy. It'll be so method you can't even logically say it's not actually me." He notices her growing reluctance and counterattacks with his puppy dog eyes. "Please, Lexa. I really, really like this girl."

"How can you like her if you have been interacting with her for all of a day and only through chat?" she counters, once again halting her steps. Most of the students have already cleared the hall, so her voice ricochets against the walls and comes back to her almost unaltered. Hearing her own words is daunting — it is like having an appointment with her conscience that she didn’t book.

Finn scratches at the back of his neck, all but bashful. "Maybe I don't like-like her yet, but... I feel like this could really be something, you know?"

Lexa sighs, defeated. She sees the honesty in his eyes, the plea in the mismatched height of his shoulders. How can she refuse?

 

//

 

"All you have to do is say no."

"I can't, Bellamy."

Bellamy lowers the heat on the stove and turns to Lexa, the spatula in his hand pointing at her accusatorially. The apron wrapped around his body is the perfect complement to his ‘scolding mom’ look.

"He's asking you to write love letters for your crush on your behalf. That's fucked up."

"Finn does not know that."

"Then tell him," he says, turning back to move the eggs around.

Lexa leans over the counter, propping her chin on her open palm. Talking to Bellamy about these things is complicated, especially because he is almost always right. It doesn’t help that he often takes her side. "I don't want to make this into a competition. One he has already won."

"How do you know that?" Bellamy asks as he pours the eggs into a bowl. He places it on the counter, along with two plates filled with tomato, avocado, cheese, and red pepper.

Lexa nods gratefully as she picks up her fork and knife. "She swiped right for him. That must mean she likes him."

Bellamy sits down on the stool to her right and takes a forkful of food into his mouth. He swallows in record time before asking, "Does it though? I mean, I've swiped right for hundreds of girls on Tinder. Does that mean I like all of them?"

"It just means you have really low standards," she teases with a smirk, earning a playful glare and a shoulder bump. "This is delicious, by the way."

"Thanks. But you do get what I mean, right?" he insists, his deep voice soothing at this moment. "Appreciating someone's looks or their two-line description on a dating app doesn't equal actually liking them."

She heaves a sigh, having already told herself the same thing. She seems to be having a hard time actually processing it. "I know."

"Tell him how you feel about Clarke."

"That would still make it into a competition."

"Then tell him you won't do it. I mean, crush or no crush, it's still messed up.” He points his full fork at her upside down and most of the food on it flops over the counter.

Lexa huffs and rolls her eyes. She gathers the fallen food in one hand and drops it back on his plate. He heaves an affronted gasp and tries to argue; an authoritative scowl from her is quick to shut him up.

"Trust me, I tried saying no.” Lexa wipes her hand on Bellamy’s t-shirt before he can catch it. He glowers and grumbles, but all he gets in return is a triumphant smirk. Her smile fades as she gets back to the matter at hand. “He killed me with those stupid puppy dog eyes."

"Finn does have great powers of persuasion." Lexa hums her agreement, dejected. " You sacrifice too much for us, though. You gotta want some things for yourself, too."

She looks at her best friend, her gaze and her heart open and honest. In them lies a vulnerability she does not allow herself often. "Sometimes I forget how to do that."

She knows she has officially lost any chance she may have had with Clarke. Of course, for all she knows, Clarke could be straight and want nothing to do with her. Nevertheless, it's heartbreaking to see that window shut by something external to the both of them. And yet, why would Clarke even look at her now, when she hasn't for the past three months? Why would things change now? Why hang on to unlikely fantasies when she has the chance to help something probable become real? So, if anything, Lexa should just get over herself and help her friend in need, who actually has a chance.

"Hey," Bellamy whispers, easing her back to reality. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses her temple, soft and loving. His gruff voice comforts her. "You're gonna be alright. I know it."

Lexa hopes her best friend is right.

 

//

 

Impersonating Finn while writing a poem inevitably means kicking off with the basics. Lexa loves her friend, but he has not exactly been blessed with brilliant intellect — far from it. Thus, she tries to keep the poem simple and on a par with his usual articulacy.

 

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_Thought I'd never swipe right_

_But then I found you_

 

Finn pastes it on the Tinder chat the next day. Clarke finds it cute, but to his surprise it doesn't have the impact he expected.

Right now, his face is squished on Lexa’s dinner table. Anya, who has never been a fan of Finn’s melodramatic tendencies — ‘one drama queen is enough for me’, she always says — glares steadily at the back of his head.

“I don’t know,” he laments, his words muffled. He reaches for his glass of coke, but then seems to remember the current position of his head and drops his arm on the table. “Maybe I should just give up. I mean, is anything even worth the effort anymore?”

“I’m out of here,” Anya announces with a scoff, leaving the two friends alone at the table.

Finn lifts his face off the table, looking outraged. “Respect my existential nihilism!”

Lexa has to contain an eye roll at his theatrics. “I hardly think the situation justifies adopting such a grim outlook on life as a whole.”

His affront turns on her, with wide eyes, a gasp, and a hand to his heart to boot. “You say that because you’ve never been bitten by the lovebug, and then had your skin torn off by the heartbreak beast.”

Lexa refrains from pointing out how nonsensical his second metaphor is and how badly it matches the first one. She prefers to focus on the other flaw in his logic.

“You two talked for two days… On Tinder.”

“And already I feel like I know her,” Finn counters with gravitas.

She takes his glass of coke and downs it against his protests. “Maybe you should write your own poems for Clarke. I’m sure she would enjoy all your nihilistic eloquence.”

Lexa takes the glass to the kitchen, where she dumps it in the sink, before checking the contents of the fridge.  Finn follows after her, his walk and mannerisms exaggerated in such a way he looks like a Shakespearean caricature.

“I’m an actor, not a playwright.” He leans on the counter with his best smile as Lexa closes the fridge with an apple in her hand, and she’s sure he is playing some kind of tacky Casanova. “Eloquent as I may be, the words in my mouth would sound far better if written by you.”

Lexa bites into her apple, unimpressed. “And that is why you are at your best when you don’t talk.”

“Funny.”

“Hilarious, actually. So, what about the poems for Clarke?”

Finn steals her apple, as she did his coke, and smiles triumphantly. “Clarke who?”

 

//

 

"Hey, Lexa."

At first, she thinks she’s dreaming. Then she remembers that she stubbed her toe on her bed this morning and it hurt like hell, and she has not slept since then, so she cannot actually be dreaming. Clarke Griffin is calling her name, in that unmistakable gravelly voice.

Lexa hitches the straps of her backpack up her shoulders and turns around, trying not to have a mini heart attack. She steels herself, attempts to hide her attraction as well as possible.

"Hello, Clarke."

She answers Clarke's smile with one of her own and gets lost in the swirling blue of her crush's stare. Clarke’s eyes are even more beautiful up close; they reel her in with different shades of blue and trap her in their hold with the occasional fleck of grey. The two girls stay like that for several seconds, until Clarke seems to wake up from whatever trance she was in and clears her throat, her cheeks dusted with a beautiful pink.

"So, um... You're heading to soccer practice, right?"

Lexa nods. "That is right."

"Cool. That's cool." There is an awkward silence, at the end of which Lexa figures the conversation is over and starts turning around, but Clarke's voice stops her. "Actually-- I was thinking... maybe I could go with you?"

Lexa's eyes widen with surprise, before she remembers what time of year this is and then they frown with disappointment. "Clarke, trials for the soccer team were in September."

Her disappointment turns to confusion when Clarke looks at her in bewilderment.

"What? I wasn't talking about trying for the team. I just wanted to accompany you to practice and... And maybe watch? You?"

Now, it is Lexa's turn to look bewildered. Eyes wide and heart thumping, she's sure her voice is barely audible when she asks, "You want to watch me practice?"

Clarke's cheeks are oddly red, as are Lexa's ears, she is sure, although in her case the reason is right in front of her and currently struggling to find her words.

"No! I mean, yeah! Like--" Clarke fidgets, hands wringing together before one runs through her hair. She locks eyes with Lexa. "I need to practice drawing movement. I thought soccer would be the perfect subject."

"So, you will draw the ball and the players?"

"Um, no," Clarke says shyly. "I'll draw you. Just you."

Lexa dips her head, tries to hide her smile against her chest. "Oh. Okay. Well, come on, then."

 

//

 

Knowing that Clarke is in the bleachers for her, drawing her, is dangerous. Lexa can't help thinking up scenarios where Clarke is there for her and watches her games for different reasons. For romantic reasons. For the right reasons.

She thought Clarke's presence would distract her, but it's exactly the opposite — Lexa has never been so focused. Her passes are more precise, her shots more powerful, her dribbling more skilled, and her movements sharper than ever. Positioning, tackling, anticipation. She does everything better than ever. Her ears burn when, once training has ended and she's drinking some water, her coach tells her to bring her girlfriend along more often.

After she has showered and changed into clean clothes, she steps out of the locker room, expecting to find the bleachers empty, only to be proven pleasantly wrong at the sight of Clarke in the same spot as before, waiting for her.

"Hi," she greets comes up to Clarke, who welcomes her with a warm smile. Lexa sits next to her, barely containing the urge to peek into her notebook.

"Hey, Lexa.” Clarke hesitates before adding, “I'll admit: I told myself I was here to work, but I just couldn't take my eyes off of you."

Lexa wonders how she can be expected to act like a regular human being after an opener like that. She flexes her left hand around the strap of her bag, hoping to at least maintain a normal skin tone. "You couldn't?" Her voice is meek, barely a whisper, like half of it got stuck in her throat and failed to come out. To her surprise, though, Clarke doesn’t seem to notice.

"You're an amazing player, Lexa. Even better than I expected," Clarke says with fervor. "No wonder we're top of the league undefeated and you're the top scorer."

Lexa shrugs with one shoulder, entirely unaware of how to take such a big compliment from the girl she has a crush on. "It's the result of hard work." She struggles to find another topic, to steer the conversation from her. "But anyway, did you get any work done at all?"

Clarke seems lost for a moment, before she follows Lexa's gaze down to her lap, where her notebook sits, and remembers what she came here for in the first place. "Oh! Some, yeah. But they're not finished."

"Can I see it?" Lexa asks with caution. Clarke must see something in her eyes, for she hands her the notebook, which she places carefully on her knees.

Lexa's heart stops when she sees the page littered with drawings of her, some smaller than others. She's running, she's shooting, she's playing with the ball. The full-body ones make her feel powerful, but it is those where Clarke has captured close-ups of her face that she falls in love with. She brushes careful fingers over the grey lines, mesmerized. She never imagined she could look so regal on the field; so commanding. She wonders if that is what she exudes or if it is Clarke’s pencil bringing forth those qualities. Then she looks at Clarke, whose lower lip is trapped between her teeth, nervous and expectant, and she realizes that it doesn’t matter, because that is how Clarke sees her.

She also understands, then, that maybe the pink on Clarke’s cheeks has the same meaning as the pink on Lexa’s ears. Maybe Clarke’s nerves have the same root as hers. And maybe… maybe she does have a chance after all.

"Clarke, this... This is beautiful. You are incredibly talented."

Clarke smiles, which is beautiful by itself, but the bashful strokes of the curve of her lips send a shiver up Lexa's spine. "The artist is only as good as their subject."

"And gold would look like tin on the canvas of an uninspired artist."

Clarke leans back to regard her better, eyebrows raised and an impressed smile on her lips. “Very poetic.”

Lexa’s lips curl into a smile, small and bashful. “So are you, if English Lit classes are anything to go on.”

“You’ve been paying attention.”

Lexa just shrugs, not trusting her brain and her mouth to come up with a coherent response.

They lean back in their seats, enjoying the view for a while. The field is empty, as are the bleachers, which makes for an unusual scenario. It's oddly peaceful, calming even. Who would have known that once you remove the students, high school becomes an actually pleasant place?

It helps that beyond the soccer fields there is only green; either other sports, or open meadows separated from the school premises by a fence they can't see from here. Flocks of trees and the odd lake sprinkle the horizon, the sky stripped of clouds and a shade of blue that almost rivals that of Clarke's eyes.

A phone chimes and Lexa watches as Clarke pulls out her phone and checks a new message.

"Damn it.” Clarke turns to her. “Sorry, I need to go.”

“It’s okay.” Lexa collects her bag and stands up after Clarke. “Do you need a ride?”

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll walk. My home is just a few blocks away,” Clarke says, flustered, as she starts walking backwards and away from Lexa.

Lexa frowns at the thought of Clarke walking alone so long after school. She takes Clarke’s wrist in a gentle hold, stopping her from walking away. “I really would rather drive you. I would like to make sure you get home safe.”

Clarke worries her lower lip between her teeth, her eyes skimming over Lexa’s face like she is trying to find an answer in the glint of her eyes or the slope of her cheeks. Then she smiles, small and sweet, and nods, and there needn’t be a sound to make it lovely.

The ride is a pleasant one, albeit mostly silent. To Lexa’s surprise, silence when in the company of Clarke is not awkward or uncomfortable; it’s just another way of enjoying each other’s company.

“This guy sent me a poem on Tinder the other day,” Clarke starts, and Lexa needs to make an effort not to lose focus on the road. “It was pretty… meh.”

“Pretty meh?” Lexa repeats with a short laugh, and Clarke’s answering grin sends little prickles up and down her arms.

“Yeah. It definitely wasn't good poetry.”

Lexa quirks an amused eyebrow and tells herself that this is not as important as the thumping of her heart says it is. She parks the car where Clarke tells her to, but neither of them makes a move to end the conversation. “What is good poetry, then?”

They share a long, meaningful look, and even though she’s technically at an advantage, considering what she knows, Lexa feels the playing field is uneven in Clarke’s favor. Clarke clears her throat and looks down at her hands. When she looks up, her pink lips are stretched into a teasing smirk.

“Well, for one, something that doesn't start with 'roses are red, violets are blue'.”

Lexa feels perilously out of breath, lost in the width and height and length and depth of the feelings currently crushing her heart into every wall of her ribcage. Still she manages to keep her voice from wavering, and even lends it a seductive lilt — tied with a lopsided smirk —, when she whispers, “I'll keep that in mind.”

They share a smile, before Clarke’s phone beeps again, startling its owner.

“I really need to go now,” she sighs. “Thanks for the ride, Lexa.”

“It was nothing, Clarke.”

“And for letting me tag along with you earlier.”

Lexa thumbs at a loose string from the seams of her wheel. She cannot help how bashful she becomes when Clarke is around and smiling at her, blue eyes shining softly. “I enjoyed having you there.”

The cheek kiss she is rewarded with keeps her face warm for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

The postcard falls between Clarke’s feet with a light thwack. She picks it up and her heart skips a beat when she reads her name written in careful cursive. Careful not to attract any unwanted attention, Clarke uses the door of her locker as a shield between herself and the world and opens the postcard with meticulous fingers.

Her breath catches at what she finds inside.

_I drown happily, willingly;_

_Trapped in the curve of your smile,_

_Drawn by the weight of you while_

_The swirling blue consumes me._

 

Clarke bites her bottom lip, unable to contain an elated grin. The thought of full lips pursed in thought as long fingers wrap around a pen, making it twirl to form the words before her, causes her cheeks to burn pleasantly.

Then the door of her locker slams shut, and she jumps at the sudden interruption. Her friends laugh at her reaction, but it dies in their throats when she throws them a murderous glare.

It’s all fun and games, though, and Clarke relaxes when Raven throws an arm around her shoulder. “What up, Griffin?”

Her mental battle over whether or not to share is quickly resolved and she shows Raven and Octavia the postcard. “This was in my locker when I opened it.”

Her friends gasp as they read the short poem and start invading her with questions of ‘who was it’ and ‘how did this happen’ and ‘when is the wedding’. Raven wins the tug of war between them and claps a hand over Octavia’s mouth, effectively silencing her. The shorter girl scowls at her, but Raven pays her no mind.

“So I take it your date with Lexa went well, huh?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but the pink on her cheeks betrays her nonchalance. “It wasn’t a date, Raven. I just asked to watch her practice, made some doodles of her, and then we talked for a bit. About poetry. But I don’t know for sure that this,” she steals the postcard from Octavia’s hands and stores it with care in the safest pocket of her backpack, “was her work.”

“Do you think it could be Finn?” asks Octavia, having bitten Raven’s hand off her mouth.

“I don’t think he has the intellect to pull this off,” Clarke says honestly as she closes her locker. “He’s sweet, but all he can talk about is his hair and how to make the perfect lobbing pass or whatever.”

“Wow. Dude’s basic.”

“Pretty much,” she shrugs, entering the classroom with her friends. They sit in a triangle, Raven and Octavia on one side and Clarke across from them. She pulls out the postcard and rereads the poem, letting her heart melt for a bit before classes can freeze it again.

“Then why do you keep chatting with him on Tinder?”

Clarke shrugs at Raven’s question. “I don’t. We talked for like a day, but then it became clear that we had nothing in common. I haven’t even been on Tinder since.”

Her friends hum in understanding. However, Clarke doesn’t register, because that’s the moment Lexa chooses to enter the classroom. Finn and Bellamy are with her, but they might as well be invisible, because all Clarke sees is brown hair and green eyes and full lips and a jawline that could cut through diamond and perfect cheekbones and legs for days. All she sees is Lexa’s eyes as they lock with her own as well as the shy, crooked that blooms on those perfect, pouty lips.

In her haze, Clarke props her elbows on her notebooks, taking up space that was already occupied. This causes the postcard to fall over and lands at Finn’s feet. He bends to pick it up and reads what’s inside — his eyebrows raise behind it, but when he lowers it again his lips are sporting a cheeky grin.

“You got it.”

It takes several moments for Clarke to dispel her confusion. When she does, her face blanches and she tries not to let the disappointment show in her voice. “You… you wrote it?”

“Of course,” he shrugs confidently. Out the corner of her eye, Clarke notices Lexa’s tense shoulders and clenched jaw. “Who else?”

She tells herself not to be disappointed, that it’s okay, that she never stood a chance anyway. Lexa is at the top of the high school social ladder, while Clarke is at the bottom. Lexa is the most popular girl in school, captain of the soccer team and class president; Clarke is president of the chess club and captain of the Mathletics team. It was never meant to work.

It’s fruitless to tell herself that, though. She’s had a crush on Lexa Woods for far too long not to feel crushed under the weight of shattered expectations. The feeling of disenchantment embeds its claws in her heart and squeezes it so tightly she’s sure it will break.

“Actually, I was wondering,” Finn keeps talking, although Clarke doesn’t really listen, “if you would like to go out with me tonight.”

She watches after Lexa as she walks away and drops on her chair, clearly done with the conversation. It hurts to see it end before it could even begin.

“Clarke?”

She snaps back to reality and finds Finn waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry, what?”

He simpers, boyish and wildly attractive, though not for her. “Is you head always so up in the clouds?” She knows she shouldn’t let it, but it grates on her nerves. “I was asking if you’d like to go out with me.”

With one last look at Lexa, Clarke smiles at Finn and nods. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Lexa is barely out of her seat when she is tackled into a hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Finn chants, tightening his hold. He pulls away with a wide, dopey grin and a glint of gratitude in his eyes. Lexa waited for Clarke and her friends to leave the classroom before standing up, which means they aren’t here to watch Finn’s displays of joy. “I mean, you could’ve told me you were going to write another one and give it to her, but damn, Lexa. It worked like a charm! You’d better start working on the next one.”

Finn punches her arm playfully and gives her another hug for good measure, before turning on his heels and leaving the classroom. A second later, Lexa feels a soothing hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Lex. You’ll find a way around this.”

She covers Bellamy’s hand with her own and smiles ruefully up at him. “I think I will just let them be this time.”

 

* * *

 

Finn is a nice guy.

Their first date went well enough, so they agreed on a second one. In the meantime, she opens her locker every morning to find a postcard with a beautiful poem inside. It makes her smile, but not like it would if it were from someone else. If it were from Lexa.

She and Lexa have gone back to saying ‘hi’ in passing and trading a smile here and there. It hurts, because Clarke knows she’s not totally over Lexa yet and she has no idea what she did to cause this step back.

Clarke is in charge of planning the second date with Finn, which she feels tragically unprepared for. She wonders if she even wants it but doesn’t allow that thought to take root in her head. Finn is a nice guy. He doesn’t deserve her indecision.

“Is it cruel?” she asked her friends the other day, while they were studying in her room.

“What?”

“Is it cruel that I can’t honestly bring myself to believe that those poems were written by Finn?”

Raven stopped what she was doing and looked straight at her. “Why is that?”

She shrugged, unable to find an explanation that would sound reasonable for ears that were not her own. “I don’t know, it’s just… It’s not him, you know? This is probably cruel, but I don’t feel like he _can_ write those things. I hang out with him and I talk to him, and then I read those poems and I just—I can’t reconcile the poems I read with the Finn that I see.”

“Who can you reconcile them with?” Raven asked carefully.

“Lexa,” she answered without hesitation. “I look at her and I talk to her and I see the same beautiful soul I read in those poems.”

Her friends stared at her for a long moment, before Octavia shrugged. “Maybe you’re right.”

She’s thinking about that and more as she walks down the empty halls on her way to the bathroom when she walks into another body. Neither of them falls, but the other person’s books do, and Clarke doesn’t waste a second before she’s kneeling on the ground and helping them collect them. She’s on her way to an apology when she realizes who she just ran into.

“Lexa.”

The brunette’s smile is tentative. “Hello, Clarke.”

Lexa’s voice hasn’t lost its softness and kindness. It brings back memories Clarke has been trying to erase from her mind — she reckons that however hard she tries, there is no way to force this crush out of her heart. She will have to let it disappear on its own.

“Hey,” she replies, not knowing how to act around Lexa. “I’m sorry I ran into you.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay.”

Four words are able to set off the butterflies Finn wasn’t able to over a whole date. Clarke really shouldn’t be comparing them.

“Would you like to go out with us tonight?” she blurts. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit_. The expression of shock on Lexa’s face tells her she didn’t put it the best way. “I mean, not just you. I meant you and Bellamy could come, and anyone else you’d want to bring along, and I could bring Raven, Octavia, and Wels. You know? That way we could make it a group date, rather than a date-date.”

She’s ready to launch into another tangent when Lexa wraps gentle fingers around her wrist — just like that time on the bleachers, her useless brain reminds her. Clarke swears her brain is a freaking Lexa fangirl, shouting excitedly every time they so much as stand in the same room.

“I shall talk to Bellamy to check his availability. I’m sure he would love to.”

The next question drops from her lips before she can stop it, “Would you?”

It’s dumb and she wants the earth to swallow her whole, but her interest is piqued when Lexa doesn’t answer right away. Lexa’s thumb caresses the inside of Clarke’s wrist, although she seems unaware of it. Clarke doesn’t mention it to her, afraid that she will stop.

Lexa seems to finally settle on a reply and wets her lips before saying, “I would love any chance to spend time with you.”

Clarke feels something pulling her to Lexa, lowering her gaze to full lips and her fingers through long digits. However, as always in these moments, her phone rings and startles them apart.

She sees the name on the screen and tries not to groan. “It’s Finn,” she says apologetically, turning around to answer it. The last things she sees is Lexa’s gaze lowering to the floor.

 

//

 

The second date with Finn is much better than the first, although that doesn’t have anything to do with him at all.

The second date is so much better than the first because Lexa is here — along with the rest of Clarke and Finn’s friends, granted — and they haven’t spent a minute apart. Clarke feels like she’s hijacking her own date, in a way, but she could care less. Lexa is here and she’s gorgeous and soft and so kind, and they haven’t stopped talking since she arrived at the restaurant.

 “You know,” she tells Lexa, leaning back in her chair, “I actually set up a Tinder account just to have fun swiping people left and right. I know it may sound kind of insensitive, but it’s a fun game.”

“You are right, it does sound insensitive,” Lexa teases her. It earns her a playful slap on the arm and a ‘jerk’. “I understand you, though. It’s kind of addicting.”

“Exactly! So, I can assume you have an account of her own?” Clarke knows this, but she needs to hear it from Lexa.

“I do, but I haven’t been on Tinder in a while. Beyoncé could have swiped me right and I wouldn’t know.”

Clarke laughs and leans closer to Lexa. “Well, maybe you should go back.”

Lexa turns to face her and suddenly, they’re much, much closer than they were before. Lexa’s eyes are lidded, a deeper green than ever before. “Should I?” she whispers, and it feels like a cold finger running up and down Clarke’s spine.

Everything stops around them and it’s just the two girls in the room — Lexa’s heavy gaze and parted lips and Clarke’s thundering heart. Her voice his hoarse when she replies, “You really should.”

 

* * *

 

“You like her.”

Clarke went to the bathroom and Lexa was left alone for the first time tonight. It didn’t last long though, for seconds later Finn was sitting down next to her, occupying Clarke’s seat.

Now, Lexa is battling two battles at once — both against her erratic heart. She sits up straighter, forces her expression not to show any emotion as she faces her friend. “What are you talking about?”

To her surprise, Finn is smiling softly. “You like Clarke. And she likes you.”

“She doesn’t—”

“Ha! See?” his grin is wide and puerile, which should stand in absolute contrast with their conversation. For some reason, it matches it. “You didn’t deny it.”

Lexa’s shoulders slump and she heaves a heavy sigh, letting guilt consume her. “I’m sorry, Finn.”

“You might not believe this, but you have nothing to be sorry for. I do.” For the first time in their lives, Finn is being the more mature one. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize you hadn’t written that poem of my behalf. And I’m sorry for taking credit for it. Actually, I’m sorry that I even asked you to write those poems and didn’t stop insisting at the first negative.”

“I didn’t tell you,” she counters.

“True. And that’s on you. But I also know how you would do anything for us. Even if it means hurting yourself in the process.” His pointed stare draws a smile from her lips. “But to be fair, you didn’t really have to tell me after the first poem. I gave up, you took your chance. It’s my fault that I couldn’t put two and two together.”

“Who are you and what did you do to Finn Collins?”

He laughs, childlike once more, and takes a fry from her plate as he stands up. “I’m just telling you, go for it. I’m bowing out. You’d win anyway.”

 

//

 

Much later, Lexa is staring at her phone like it’s a riddle she has yet to solve. After several swipes left, she came across Clarke’s profile once more, which could only mean one thing. And that is why she has been staring at her phone for the past three hours, trying to decide what she do.

No. This has gone too far. Not giving herself time to think, she hitches her thumb rightward and watches a message shows up on her screen: _It’s a match!_

She lives a simple _Hello, Clarke_ on the chat and waits another hour for a reply. It never comes, though, so she decides that her time will be better spent sleeping and therefore not losing precious sleep time on a week day.

 

//

 

Lexa has no idea how to approach Clarke. They matched on Tinder, but Clarke has not replied to her message yet, which confuses her even further. Why are crushes so complicated?

On top of all that, Clarke forgot to bring her History book, so the two are bunking up together. Unlike that time in the car, this silence is endless and impossibly awkward. Lexa has no idea what to say and that seems to be putting Clarke off, who in turn makes no move to start a conversation. In the end they are standing at an impasse neither seems capable of breaking through.

The first time either of them talks in over an hour catches Lexa off guard.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Lexa frowns at Clarke, unsure that heard well. Clarke wants her phone? Why? “I dropped mine in the toilet,” the blonde explains with an embarrassed shrug. “It’s been drowned in rice practically since I got home. And now I need to email myself some notes.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

That explains it. Clarke didn’t ignore her message — she never even saw it. Hope is so quick to fill her back up that if feels like has been plugged into a socket and charged back up within seconds. Her smile takes shape with each volt that courses through her body and she hands Clarke her phone without a second thought.

“Go ahead. I need to go to the bathroom anyway.”

Lexa asks for permission to go to the bathroom and leaves Clarke to her devices. Five minutes later, she is back in her seat, but nothing is the same. The first sign that things have changed comes when she sits down, and Clarke does not even spare her a look. Then, Clarke hands her the phone back with a muted ‘thanks’ and not a look her way. To her growing surprise, the blonde also doesn’t speak to her once during class and keeps her stare fixed ahead. The final clue comes with the bell — Clarke leaves her seat like a dash without a look over her shoulder or a word goodbye.

Utterly confused but not blind enough not to read the signs, Lexa reaches the obvious conclusion: Clarke is giving her the cold shoulder.

 

//

 

The postcard falls between Lexa’s feet with a light thwack. She picks it up and her heart skips a beat when she reads her name written in sloppy handwriting. Careful not to attract any unwanted attention, Lexa uses the door of her locker as a shield between herself and the world and opens the postcard with meticulous fingers.

Her breath catches at what she finds inside.

 

_Roses are red_

_Violets are blue_

_Bleachers at 5 pm_

_I know it was you_

 

She has barely finished reading the note when two heads pop over her shoulders.

“Noice,” Bellamy comments, giving her a sharp slap on the back.

She rolls her eyes and tries to hide the postcard, but it’s no use. “No one says ‘noice’ anymore, Bell.”

“Aw, look at her trying to change the subject,” Finn chimes in. “That’s cute.”

“I am not—” her efforts are useless when everywhere she finds a pointed look everywhere she looks. “This may not be as good as you think, anyway. Clarke was giving me the cold shoulder yesterday.”

“Ouch.”

Finn is more encouraging. “Look. She likes you, okay? I mean, our second date was basically your first.” She gives him a light backhanded slap in the stomach. “I’m serious. You have nothing to be afraid of. Okay?”

She breathes in, then out, and nods her head at last. “Okay.”

“That’s my girl.” She receives a loud kiss on either cheek and rolls her eyes, although she cannot hold in a fond smile. “We did such a good with this one, Bell.”

She glares at Finn, menacing and ruthless. “Shut up before I tell everyone that your favorite TV show of all time is Hannah Montana.”

 

//

 

“I thought good poetry did not start with ‘roses are red, violets are blue’.”

Clarke turns around at the sound of her voice and, though Lexa would really rather not be too cliché, it takes her breath away. Clarke looks as beautiful as ever, maybe even more so now that their future is uncertain. Lexa descends the final steps and sits next to Clarke.

“So… You know.”

There is no need to specify what Clarke knows. “I do.”

“Are you angry?”

“I was, yesterday.”

Lexa’s interest is piqued. Still, she knows she needs to tread this territory with extreme caution. “What changed?”

“I thought about it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Clarke says nothing else and Lexa chooses not to push her. They need to go at Clarke’s rhythm. The silence stretches and stretches, until it snaps. Lexa surprises herself by being the first to snap it.

“How did you find out?”

Clarke huffs out a humorless laugh, letting it on that Lexa is not yet off the hook. Despite that, Lexa feels a hand close over hers and fingers slide into the spaces between her own. It gives her strength.

“I was taking pictures of my notes when I noticed I’d missed a bit from the previous class. I peeked into your notebook to search for it — sorry for the invasion of your privacy, by the way — and found a poem that read like all the other ones. It had to be the same person. I looked further and found every poem Finn sent me,” Clarke explains. “I was pissed, and I was hurt. But then I got home, and my phone was up and running again and I opened Tinder for god knows what reason and found your message. We’d matched, and you’d made the effort to send me a message. That wasn’t the doing of someone who had no interest in me whatsoever.”

“Not at all, Clarke,” she confirms. “I have very much interest in you.”

Clarke’s free hand cups her cheek. Lexa lets her eyes flutter closed when a thumb brushes over her cheekbone. “I know. I still thought maybe you just didn’t want to be seen with me, because you’re the most popular girl in school and I’m—well. The nerdy new girl, by our fellow high schoolers’ standards.”

Clarke’s doubts hurt, but Lexa also understands them. Lexa catches the girl’s gaze and holds on to it, bare and honest. “I could care less about those things, Clarke.”

Another brush of a thumb over her cheekbone and a small smile on Clarke’s lips that almost makes her heart stop. “I know,” Clarke says, echoing her own words. “Then I thought how you’d said you’d keep my suggestion in mind, and how happy you looked to see me the day I received the second poem; like we had a secret that was just ours to share. And I realized you never expected Finn to take credit for the poem.”

“He apologized already,” Lexa rushes to say. “I could have said something, though.”

“True, but… I know you’re a self-sacrificing idiot,” Clarke teases. “It’s one of the things that attract me about you. To be honest, though, I already had an inkling.”

Lexa is sure that her heart is about to jump out of her chest. She stares at Clarke, eyes wide and obvious shock on her face. “You did?”

“Mm-hm,” Clarke nods, never letting go of their points of contact. “You have a beautiful soul, Lexa. And the way you talk… You speak like a poet. It had to be you.”

Lexa cannot really argue with Clarke’s logic; that was the reason Finn asked her to write the poems on his behalf, after all. She finds it scary to be read so easily by Clarke, however, she reckons that this is a much healthier basis for a relationship. Lexa turns her face just slightly, so she can kiss the inside of Clarke’s palm.

“What happens now?”

Clarke smirks, clearly in love with having the upper hand, and lightly bumps her nose into Lexa’s, before pulling back. The hand cupping Lexa’s face remains there, though, and is soon joined by the other. Regardless of her fate, Lexa is content to have such a close look at the eyes that have hypnotized her from the start.

“Now, I decide whether I should be pissed at you… Or kiss you. What do you think, Lexa?”

Lexa nods vigorously, tearing an amused laugh from her crush. “Kiss me. Definitely kiss me.”

Some say eighteen is too young to know what love is, but Lexa _knows_ that she loves the way Clarke’s lips split into a wide grin and she loves how the hands on her face travel to her hair and pull her close — and she _loves_ the touch and taste and glide of Clarke’s lips pressed to her own. Some may say that eighteen is too young to know what love is, but Lexa is fully aware that kissing Clarke feels like drowning; happily, willingly. She’s trapped in the curve Clarke’s lips and drawn by the pull of her kiss, while this new, all-encompassing feeling consumes her.

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said, it kinda got away from me, both length- and story-wise, as usual, but oh well. I gave it my best shot (wish I'd had more time though haha).
> 
>  
> 
> LEXA LIVES ON. In all of us.


End file.
